Across the Universe
by soirblanche
Summary: Katniss and Peeta decide to leave Panem, and embark on a long journey, to see what's left in the world. Through their adventure, not only will they discover new lands, but discover each other as well. Occurs before epilogue of Mockingjay.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. **

**Author's note at bottom. Enjoy :)**

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**~"Ideals are like the stars; we never reach them, but like the mariners of the sea, we chart our course by them." –Carl Schurz~**

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Time has become meaningless to me.

It feels like an eternity has passed. Or years. Or weeks. Or days. Or maybe even hours. I no longer keep track of what day it is, or what the hour hand points to on the clock. For me, the day begins by the sunrise, and ends at the sunset. And I'm okay with that.

Life has come to a standstill, and that scares me, for I have begun to feel secure. When one feels secure, they feel that all of the atrocities of life cannot reach them. This is a lie. When the wretched things do come, people who are so enveloped in their false sense of security do not know how to handle it, and perish. I do not want to become one of those people.

I do not feel entirely secure, however. I know that Plutarch said that the Capitol cameras have been smashed to smithereens, I know that, I do. But that hasn't prevented me from feeling that someone is watching me. I have trouble using the titular phrase 'private life.' I've never had a true private life. Every time that I've thought I was out of the public, ever-watching eye of the Capitol, I was wrong. I made that mistake when I kissed Gale, once. To phrase it better, he kissed me.

I don't know where he is for sure, speaking of which. I've heard rumors that he's working some fancy job in District Two, frills and all. Panem was announced free of districts, but I have a hard time thinking that way.

About Gale, I'd like to say I care that he's gone. We were best friends. But I'm past that. I do hope, though, that he's found someone to lean on during hard times, if any, and I hope that whoever it is will make him happy. I try not to be too sentimental these days, but it's hard not to sometimes.

I've been living life quietly. Peacefully. I am in the woods most of the time, but it's not always for hunting. I perch myself on a branch, and stare at the scenery, and listen to the gentle cries of birds as they flutter past me. I walk on and on until my feet begin to ache. I sometimes go swimming in the ice cold water, even though my toes and fingers go numb. After every expedition in the woods, I always make sure I bring home something to eat, though. Last time I shot down a flock of birds, and placed them in a cloth bag. I then went home, and cooked them thoroughly.

I do miss having a partner. I don't mean a hunting partner. I guess you could say a friend. Well, I might as well be specific about who I miss.

Peeta and I spend some time together, but I'm scared he'll have a relapse, so I give him plenty of time in the day by himself to mull things over. Every time I start talking to him about anything remotely serious, I feel like I'm manipulating him to get answers. And I'm not trying to do that. It scares me, though, because I still have brutal tendencies, tendencies that are not altruistic.

Peeta's hair has grown shabby; small curliques have covered the burn scars on top of his forehead. It's odd, but I feel like running my fingertips through his soft hair, and to have him lean the side of his face into my palm like he used to. But those are the two key words: used to. He's gotten better, though. He's advanced. We do spend time together. We sometimes touch each other. But it's in a platonic way. I hold back, though. I'm not bold like I used to be. And sometimes I catch him sneaking glances at me, his eyes wanton, although it could just be my imagination.

Haymitch said that we have a lot of 'sexual tension', but he quit that talk after I poured an entire bottle of his alcohol down the drain.

I don't have any sexual feelings for Peeta. Well… okay, maybe slightly. But I want nothing more to regain what Peeta and I had before. This thought makes me laugh, because that would mean the old Peeta would have to come back. I hate myself for this. I took advantage of the old Peeta's love for me. And when I realized I loved him back, it was too late.

Now, I do not know where I stand with him. Now, I don't even know if I want any sort of romance with him because I fear I'll hurt him badly, that I'll twist his soul even further than I already have. I used to cry about it, but I stopped that, because my tears will not solve a damn thing.

I did kiss him, during the rebellion, and he did not attack me. He shuddered, and kept his lips pressed to mine, my hands gripping his stained face tightly, never wanting to let go.

I have never been one for romance, and love. I still am apprehensive towards marriage, and volatile towards the thought of birthing children. I think that I deserve a life of solitude, of celibacy, but that sounds like the lives of saints I have read about. And saints have not killed people, or hurt the ones they love. And I've done both of those things. I've killed people without even thinking about the family they would leave behind. And I've hurt my mother. Prim. Peeta. Gale. I've hurt so many people.

The worst part is that, secretly, I don't even want a life of solitude. I think I do, but that's a lie. I pretend like I do. When I'm alone in the woods, shooting arrows, and plucking berries, I think that it's somewhat of a fulfilling life.

But then, when Peeta occasionally comes over with the book, and his jar of paints, and saltwater, I feel sharp pangs in my blackened heart. Whenever it gets to be very late; I gauge 'lateness' by how exhausted we get, he gets up to leave, and I have to resist the urge to grip the lapels of his shirt and beg him to stay. That would make me desperate. And it kicks at me. I've never needed romance, or even friendship. I was fine. But now, human contact soothes me, where before it was despicable.

It's reaching sunset right now. I've already brought home food for Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. I forgot to mention that. Greasy Sae and her granddaughter usually come over for dinner. I think that Sae feels bad for me. But she doesn't say so. I like the company, actually. She helps me cook because I am really not good at it…still. That's when I miss Peeta the most, actually. We then collect by the table, and eat silently, with her making occasional comments, and asking me mundane questions.

Sometimes, even Haymitch joins. It's almost comical because he's always drunk, and he makes offhand statements that crack at my rigid veneer. I still haven't smiled, though. I don't remember the last time I did.

But today, it was just our usual trio: Me, Greasy Sae, and her granddaughter. Now, the day is waning, and I'm curled up in a chair, watching the rays of the sun diminish into darkness. The fire in the pit is crackling, and its warmth is soothing. I bend down to light a match, and ignite a lamp, because I can't really see.

I hear a knock on the door, and my heartbeat grows exponentially, because I know exactly who it is. That does not stop me from peering through the peephole, though, just in case. The Hunger Games have left me with a permanent sense of paranoia.

Peeta is staring at the door with bright blue eyes, his blond hair shaggier than usual, a dark bag draped over his shoulder. I open the door, and he says hello.

"I'll make tea," I offer, as he deposits his bag full of our necessary materials on the chair I was just sitting in.

"That'd be nice," he says, and rubs his hands together. "It was kind of chilly outside."

"Yeah, I've noticed that too," I say, and put on the kettle. We mainly make small talk, about superficial, banal things. It hurts too much to bring up anything else.

He opens the bag, and pulls out the sketchbook. I can hear the familiar sound of crisp pages being turned, and the clink of lids being screwed off their respective jars.

I pour the tea into two cups, which both have chipped edges, and set them down on the coffee table, where he has set up our usual apparatus.

"Thank you," he says, as he lifts his cup with his fingertips, positioning it by his mouth.

"Careful, it's hot," I reply, stating the obvious as I root through a drawer for my fountain pen and inkpot. I find them, and walk back over to where he's sitting.

"I wasn't aware of that," he jokes.

I sit across from him, as his eyes dance over mine, and open the inkpot. I dip the tip of the pen in it, sloppily, and a drop of black smears on my fingertip. I sigh, but Peeta has pulled out a cloth from his bag, and before I can do anything, or say anything, he gently takes my hand, as though it's a fragile bird, and swipes the cloth over my stained skin.

He ends up smearing it even worse, and as we stare at each other, we simultaneously break out into dim laughter, which honestly hurts my face, as those muscles are rusty from disuse.

I shrug. "It's fine," I say, and he shakes his head.

"That was a dumb attempt."

"It doesn't matter."

We stay silent as he flips to a page of… of…a drawing of katniss. The plant, not me. It's actually a pretty plant: it consists of three milky white petals, with a black globe in the center that resembles a blackberry. The flower is bordered by reflective tear shaped leaves.

"It's a simple sketch," Peeta said, "I started it at home. It's not colored in yet, though."

I raise an eyebrow, and study him as he leans forward to darken one of the lines of a singular petal. Was this supposed to mean something? Or was I just overthinking it? I know the plant extraordinarily well, considering that I'm named after it, and I used to spend time digging up its roots with my father, back at the old pond. I didn't realize that Peeta thought it valuable enough to include in our book, which is full of a variety of various things: people, plants, places.

I decide not to ask him about it. There is the implication that he put it in there because he misses me, but I shoot this down sharply because there is nothing about me that he could possibly miss.

"That's not true," Peeta suddenly says, and I stare at him, eyes widened.

"What'd you say?" I ask, my face swarmed with a red blush.

"That's not the right hue," Peeta said, looking slightly confused, holding a beige coloring pencil in his right hand. "Are you okay, Katniss? You're kind of red."

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just…I just didn't hear you," I blabber, and look down, studying my fountain pen voraciously.

"It's alright," he says softly, and he resumes his work.

We stay like that for a while, him working on other pages, and me filling out the description for the things he's drawn in fully. There are no truly emotional pictures to detail tonight, so, there's no threat of tears.

As we're working, I notice him constantly pushing his hair out of his eyes, air pushing out through his nose faster than before.

"Peeta," I suddenly blurt, fighting the urge to smooth back the hair itself. I have a suggestion that will end his exasperation, but, it might be a bit too audacious.

"Yes?" he says, still absorbed with coloring in the stem of a plant.

"Do you want me to cut your hair?"

He looks at me. "Why?"

"Well, you keep pushing it back," I reason, my face reddening once more. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

He looks contemplative for a moment, and says, "Okay. But you don't even know how to cut hair."

"I'll figure it out," I say, and begin to stand up. He places his drawing utensils down, and stands up as well.

He follows me into the kitchen, where I pull out a pair of shears.

His eyes widen. "I'm kind of scared, now, actually."

"Why?" I say, and snap the blades. "Perfectly harmless."

"Okay, I don't trust you," he says, and backs up, his hands raised in the air.

"Why not?" I say, the sides of my mouth twitching.

He suddenly runs off through the house, and I'm chasing him. It's a playful game, and he laughs as I leap over the couch, and almost trip.

"You- you can't win this-" Peeta gasps, and tears off into the upstairs compartment.

"That's what you think," I gasp back, my lungs ready to collapse.

I find him in my room, trying to enter the closet in a futile attempt to hide. As I push open the doors, he suddenly grabs the left area between my rib cage and hip, which tickles so much, I spasm, and drop the scissors. He does not stop in this feat, and ignoring my kicking legs, and continues tickling me, his hands flitting across my stomach.

In response, I shoot a hand out, and grab at his ribcage, and find, with much satisfaction, that he's ticklish too.

My brain ceases to think, and all doubts are pushed out of my head as we roll on top of each other, crashing on my bed, his heartbeat racing against mine, us both eagerly trying to attain the upper hand.

"I'm winning," I gasp, as I flip him over. He grabs my wrists, his long fingers wrapping around each with ease.

"We're at a stalemate, I think," he says, and looking down, I realize, with muted horror that I'm straddling him.

I don't move, though. Instead I just say, "Peeta. I promise. I'll be careful. Can I please just cut your hair?"

We stare at each other for a full uninterrupted minute, and he finally says, "Maybe tomorrow."

Silence ensued. I still felt very awkward, so I detached myself, and then lay on my back, on my bed. A wave of fatigue had suddenly swept over me. I haven't had any joy, any laughter, any games…in the longest time. I look over at Peeta, who's the symbol of relaxation currently: his hands are clasped on his stomach, his head is propped on a pillow, and he's gazing at the ceiling with almost dreamy eyes.

My muscles tense, and I almost expect him to leap up and strangle me, to try to squeeze all of the life out of my lungs, him yelling, "MUTT. MUTT. MUTT. KATNISS IS A FILTHY MUTT."

I expect this. We haven't done anything like this in the longest time…it almost feels weird. Okay, it feels weird. The aftermath feels weird. Before, when we were practically groping each other, it didn't. I don't even know what to feel.

It's silent for a while, but it isn't that awkward, actually. It's nice when you can just be silent with someone, without it being this awkward mess where you feel like you have to talk. I would say that's an indication of how close you are with someone, but that's a huge joke to describe our relationship. We are fragments of our past selves. Our 'relationship' if you can even call it that, is so fragile. So vulnerable.

"Katniss," Peeta says, suddenly, in a tranquil, soupy voice, clouded thickly like someone who has just woken from a nap.

"Yes?" I say, blinking slowly.

"Have you ever wondered what's outside of Panem? Is there something else in the world that… we're missing?"

I close my eyes, and think. I have, surely. But at the same time, it angers me as well. If the other countries saw how awful the Capitol was treating its citizens, then why did they not step in? Why did they just sit there and laugh at us? Or what if those other places were just as bad as the Capitol…maybe even worse? In school, we were taught that there were other places, once, but they disintegrated into sand and broke down into numerous particles that lay at the bottom of the ocean. I didn't buy it, but I didn't spend too much time reflecting on it, seeing as I was too busy occupied with finding food for my family.

I look back at Peeta, who has now turned on his side, and is facing me.

"I…" I start, looking into his expectant eyes, not knowing what to say. "Yes," I say, finally, "I've thought about it."

"Panem…" Peeta says, his eyes shifting, his face adopting a downcast look, "Is full of…memories…that…" He exhaled sharply.

I grow increasingly uncomfortable, and am slightly fearful he'll relapse.

"What is it, Peeta?" I say, gently. I reach out to touch his shoulder, which is trembling slightly. At my touch, he loosens up considerably.

"Everywhere I go, I think of everything that happened. Doesn't matter what district I visit. Doesn't matter what I do there. I think. And those thoughts torment me." His pensive eyes sweep mine, willing for a response. And I give it.

"What are you trying to say, Peeta?"

"I want to leave Panem."

Before, I would have laughed at him and maybe even said he was an idiot for thinking so. But now…if I had the gall to want to leave District 12 before, then what was stopping me now? I decided to voice my thoughts.

"But Peeta…we don't even know what's out there…"

A gleam, that familiar gleam which always used to be in his eyes has reappeared, the first time in a long time. "No. We won't know unless we look."

"What if we get killed out there, Peeta?" I say, my voice sounding indifferent, my thoughts in contrast to that tone.

"We've thought things like that before," he pointed out.

We are silent once more, musing over what he had just said. Possibilities. Chances. Opportunities.

"It's a safe haven here," I say, although I don't fully believe it, "Why would we want to go?"

"I don't believe you really think that," he said.

I bite the inside of my cheek, but then immediately stop myself, as that was a nasty habit, and made eating painful.

"No," I admitted, "I don't. I'm scared of going out there. And how would we even go? It's insanity."

"We could ask Plutarch…"

"But then it'd be a whole expedition. And I really don't want a million cameras being pointed in my face."

"We'll figure something out. We'll get a boat."

"A boat? A dingy boat?"

"Well…"

"What if we starve to death because we can't find anything?"

"We'll bring plenty of food."

"But what if we run out?"

He sighed, and smoothed a hand over his features. "You're crushing my dreams."

"I'm sorry," I say, "I'm a realist."

"Look where that's gotten us," he suddenly said, almost mockingly.

I don't know what to say. I don't know if that's targeted at the…Hunger Games, or Panem, or me in general, and all of my mistakes. I subconsciously turn my back to him, a wrinkle forming between my eyebrows.

I feel the slightest pressure on the small of my back, and goosebumps erupt as I realize it's Peeta's hand.

"I wasn't trying to make you upset," he says, and his hand leaves my flesh, the ghost of it still imprinted.

"I know," I say. And he wasn't. He's not the same person. And I'm too cynical. I have to remember that.

"It's late," he says. "I've got to go. I'll…we'll…"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," I offer, sitting up. He's gotten up, and is walking out the bedroom door. Once in the kitchen, he gathers up his various tools, and places them gently in his bag.

"Oh," he says, "I've almost forgotten." He reaches into the bag, and pulls out a lumpy piece of cloth. I raise my eyebrows slightly, and take the package. I open it to reveal two blueberry muffins, which have cooled off by now, but still smell divine. The crust is golden, and the blueberries have oozed their violet juice through the tan color of the top.

"It looks amazing," I say, looking up at him.

"Tastes even better," he says, cracking a small smile, avoiding my gaze as he ties his bag shut.

"I bet," I say, and follow him to the door. I open it, and a zephyr barrels through, nipping at both of our faces. "You're right, it is cold."

"Yes," he says, looking at me.

"I'll consider what you said," I say.

"You don't have to. It's dumb."

"No," I say, almost weakly.

"Goodnight, Katniss," Peeta says, and nods towards me.

I say goodnight as well, and shut the door softly.

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**Author's note:**

**Hey, there! The _Hunger Games_ are a wonderful book series, and I've been obsessed with Katniss and Peeta since day one. At the end of Mockingjay, I wanted to know how exactly they found each other again, and decided to make up my own version of how they leave Panem and embark on a crazy journey.**

**This writing style, for this story, is a bit different from my usual, which consists of long sentences and is very descriptive. I usually do third person as well. I decided to do first because that's how the _Hunger Games _are written.**

**I'm also nervous, because I've never wrote for this fandom before. It's rated M for sexual situations in later chapters (not so late compared to my other 2 stories). There may be one or two gory nightmares I'll throw in at random in the story. Depends.**

**Don't be shy to leave reviews! :)**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	2. Decisions, Decisions

I was walking through the meadow. The grasses had grown back; once gnarled into black ropes, they now were tall, and swayed side to side in the gentle wind that sighed through the area. These grasses brushed against my calves as I passed through them, and they felt like the slight scrape of fingernails upon one's skin. My feet were bare, and they felt pleasant on the soft soil, which squished pleasantly between my toes with every step I took.

There was nothing ahead, for miles, and miles, just stretches of plain, devoid of any of the familiar trees that normally graced the area. That was odd. Where did all of the trees go? This wasn't district eleven, home of sprawling fields for miles on end. This was district twelve. I recognized the meadow, slightly... but...where...where did all of the scenery go?

"Katniss!" A voice suddenly resounded in the area, which sounded tinny, and almost robotic, as if someone was speaking through a defected microphone.

I spun around, my heart thumping. Who could it be? Who had wandered after me? Was it Peeta? Peeta never followed me into the woods while hunting. He preferred to coop himself up in his house. He had never accompanied me with hunting. I don't think he would start now.

Was I even hunting? I did not even have my arrows and bow. What was I doing here?! As I looked down, I patted my trousers and loose t-shirt, but no, no weapons, no nothing. I felt naked.

I was defenseless, out in the open, and now, some cryptic person was calling my name. Or maybe it was my imagination. But it was too succinct to be a filament of my imagination. Maybe I was going insane…

I looked in all directions, standing on my tiptoes, which had a measly effect, but made me feel like I could see more. There was no one, and if someone was out there, they'd have to be from a very far distance, and if so, then I would not be able to hear them.

Maybe they were crouching in the grasses. Why didn't I think of that?

"Katniss."

This time, the voice was louder, and sent vivid jolts of panic coursing through my veins, pure adrenaline propelling me through the grasses, running wildly, the landscape now becoming one gigantic blur. Who was this? Why was this happening? Oh God, this was even worse than the Hunger Games in this aspect, oh God, oh God…

And now, and now, the meadow which was a place of sanctuary, of innocence, now was saturated with so much…_evil _that I wanted to leave. The sun glared at me, roasting my skin, and the friendly, soft grasses were now slapping at my legs, leaving glistening stripes of blood in their wake.

"Katniss!"

The voice was much, much closer now, but as I looked back, I still did not see anyone. My tear ducts threatened to burst, as did my lungs, which were now sputtering, and demanding for me to stop. And I did. My running- it was useless. The voices were just getting louder…and louder…what was happening…what did I do…this must be karma, the payback for all of the harm I inflicted upon people in the games. This must be it…

I doubled over, holding my stomach with my right arm, gasping for breath, trying to prevent tears from spilling over. Crying during fright did nothing but frighten me more, so I had to stop this nonsense right away.

"Katniss."

They were definitely in the perimeter. I whirled back, quickly, shaking uncontrollably, but there was no one.

"KAAAAATNISS." I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I unleashed a bloodcurdling scream, turning around once more, to see, to see-

Prim was standing there, oh, thank God, but…she…she had this odd, almost diabolical grin plastered on her face, and her eyes were narrowed…like a shark's. She was clad in my wedding gown…why was she wearing my wedding gown…that was colored red instead of the original white.

"Prim," I said, stepping forward, my hands outstretched, "Sweetheart." What was she doing here? Why'd she look like a cartoon, rather than an actual human being, composed of flesh and blood?!

She stepped backwards quickly, evading my movement. She shook her head.

"Wha-what's going on, Prim, why won't you let me hug you?!" I rasped, and a single tear slid down my cheek.

"You've been bad," she said, and shrugged. "But I've been good."

"Prim, what are you doing, you're scaring me," I said, breathing hard, nausea rising in my constricted throat.

"You like my dress?" she said, and laughed.

"NO! I DON'T! I DON'T I DON'T I DON'T!" I screamed, shaking wildly, tears streaming down my reddened face. I then realized that I had just yelled at my baby sister, with full force. Oh, god, why would I do that?! WHAT WAS GOING ON?

"Follow me," she said, utterly indifferent to my cries. I was very apprehensive, but still followed her, tears coursing down my face.

We walked through what felt like endless miles of grass, and I focused on this image of Prim, her beautiful blonde hair reaching the small of her back. I used to braid her hair, I remember, and help her brush it every night. These sentimental thoughts did nothing to curtail my tears, which I was brushing away with quick movements of my fingers, willing them to go _away. _

We reached, suddenly, the edge of a forest.

"Where'd this come from?" I asked, staring at the verdant forest in front of me, completely baffled.

Prim completely ignored me, and continued walking, my question left unanswered. I followed her through a thicket, which led to a small clearing, bordered by the swaying trees. In the center was a metal bucket.

"C'mere," she said, gesturing with her little hand. I approached her, and she took my hand. Her hand felt warm, and…sticky. Sticky? I tried to push that thought out of my head.

"Look in the bucket," she said, and I leaned over. The bucket was full of a crimson, viscous liquid, which had small bubbles circulating at the veneer. It…it looked like blood.

"It's what I used to dye this pretty dress," she giggled, "Wanna know where I got it?"

"Um, sure," I said, my lip quivering, my eyebrows scrunched.

She poked her finger into the air, and then slowly raised it up to the sky. "Look alllllll around you, Katniss."

I looked up, and saw, hanging from every tree, someone I loved, my mother, my father, Peeta, Gale, Cinna, Octavia, Haymitch, Finnick, Beetee, Rue, all with their throats slit, and eyes ripped out, their mouths open in their last cry for help.

My screams filled the night, and shattered through my bedroom, as I jolted out of bed, tears fresh on my face, breathing extremely hard.

Just a nightmare. It was…just a nightmare. I press my palms to my eyes, racked with another wave of sobs. It was so _vivid,_it had felt so…so _real. _So, so real.

It's times like these when I wish Peeta was by my side. Speaking of which, I wanted nothing more than his presence, which was soothing, which made me feel better. I swung out of bed, reaching for the lamp light. I flicked it on.

I hated this room, all of a sudden. I hated the wallpaper. I hated the floors. I hated the bed. It was my victory home, it was the place given to me for winning the Hunger Games…which I had entered to save my sister, to save my angel. And now, she was ripped from me. This place held that reminder everywhere I went. I wanted out. And I wanted out _now. _I decided, very abruptly, that I wanted to leave Panem. Now. I don't know how we're going to do it, but I want to. I want to get out of this goddamn forsaken country, which holds nothing for me anymore but severed memories, of all of the dead people I love, and whom I cursed with my toxic presence.

I ran into the bathroom, and splashed my face with a cool dosage of water. I had no threat of seeing myself in the mirror, as I had destroyed it with my fists a few months prior. Those cuts had bled for what felt like an eternity, and Greasy Sae was quite worried.

I grabbed my toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush (which I should use more, but I'm too lazy in that aspect) and carried them back to my bedroom, dumping the toiletries on my bed. I found a suitable backpack, and began opening drawers, shoving as many clothes as I could into it. I finally threw in the hygiene products, and snapped the bag shut.

I then turned off the light, and made my way downstairs, slowly, but surely, as I couldn't see. I would turn on the lights, but that would have meant going back upstairs and doing so, and I wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

I found my shoes and coat by the door, and put them on as fast as I could, shrugging my arms into the warm depths of my coat, which Peeta had bought me for my birthday.

It was bitterly cold outside, and the chill bit into my exposed legs. I realized, in my haste, that I was still wearing underwear, and had forgotten (how do you forget?) to tug on a pair of pants. The coat covered me, thankfully, and I did not feel too embarrassed, because I was completely preoccupied, wrought with sorrow that the dream induced. I was trying to think of how'd we leave, and what Peeta would say when I showed up at his door.

It was very late, I knew that, but I couldn't take it anymore. I hope that I wouldn't scare him too badly.

I hesitated for a moment at his door, but decided to stop being a wuss, and knocked sharply. There was no response, and so, I banged my fist on the door, which was incredibly rude, but at that moment, I did not give a damn.

The door finally creaked open, revealing a very groggy Peeta, who let me in however, no questions asked.

Well, until the door shut.

"Katniss? What's the matter?" He yawned, stretching. Okay, he did not seem too mad. Good. Proceed with the necessary actions.

"I-I want to leave Panem," I said. I flushed bright red, as what I said seemed so…silly to say out loud, a figment of a child's dream spoken out.

He blinked, once, twice, and then said, "You…wanted to tell me this _now?" _

I didn't respond, just stood there, shivering. Peeta flicked on the light, and his eyes widened as he looked back at me.

"Katniss…are you crying?" he said, softly, stepping towards me.

"No," I lied, which was completely ineffective, because another round of tears spilled down my face at his inquisition.

He stroked my tears away, gently, with his thumbs, cupping my face in his hands, which were soft, and hard at the same time- calloused from years of work, but still, felt soft, inviting on my skin. It was not an entirely bold gesture, as his hands trembled uncontrollably, and he swallowed audibly.

"We'll leave. I promise you that. But we need to secure certain things with certain people, and- where are your pants?" Peeta said, noticing suddenly that I was missing that particular garment. His hands left my face, and clasped together...almost awkwardly.

It would have been funny on any other occasion, but instead, I just shrugged, completely blithe to the situation.

"Well, uh, c'mon," Peeta said, gesturing with his hand for me to follow as he began to ascend the staircase. As we reached his room, he flicked on the light, painting the room with a dim gold. I hadn't been in his room, or his house even, for quite a while. It was remarkably tidy, for a male's room, save for a shirt crumpled in the corner. A cup of paintbrushes sat on his dresser, which was the only hint to a perfect stranger that he pursued artistic interests.

Peeta immediately crossed the room, and snatched up the offending shirt, squashing it into a ball, and squeezing it into a drawer. His haste made the sides of my mouth quirk up slightly. He had always been very anal about things like that...the old Peeta was...and apparently, this version of Peeta was as well, reminding me that he _was _the same person in some aspects.

"Hey Peeta," I blurted, my eyes wandering back to the cup of paintbrushes, "Do you still paint?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, kneeling down to open the bottom drawer on the dresser, "I just keep my canvasses in a different room...they would not fit in here, and I don't want to get paint all over the floors and stuff."

Who cares if he gets paint on the floor?! Well, Effie might, but none of us really cared for her opinion on that, and she was somewhere distant in Panem, far from District 12, for sure. I did not voice this opinion, though. After all, I had startled him from slumber at an ungodly hour, and here he was...willing to help. My face flushed once more, thinking of what _might _have happened if it had been a bad night for Peeta. Since when am I so impulsive? Throughout the Hunger Games, and through daily life in District 12, I had meticulously ravaged my brain with every choice I had to make, whether it was wise to shoot at a certain animal, or what strategem I should employ during the games. But now, when I had this one nightmare, which, was just one of out many, mind you- I came running to Peeta?! I had grown soft. I was right. I was a shell of what I once was, of what...

"Katniss. Katniss!" Peeta's voice broke through the slur of mercurial thoughts I was attempting, poorly, to process. He held a pair of beige sweat-pants in an outstrteched hand.

"Thank you," I said, accepting the pants, my gaze flickering across his inscrutable face.

He shrugged. "Just pants. They might be a little big."

"It's fine, thanks," I assuaged, tugging them on. He faced away from me as I did so, to grant me modesty, although it was slightly absurd as he had already seen me like this.

* * *

"So, what made you decide this?" Peeta said, glancing at me before taking a sip of tea.

Dawn was breaking, and sleep was entirely futile at this point. He put on a kettle, and said that we needed to talk. I apologized incessantly that I had woken him up, but he said it was okay, because he was having trouble sleeping anyway. After warming the soothing beverage, we toted it outside onto the porch, and sat on the rocking chairs that adorned it.

"Well...I had a nightmare," I said, lamely.

"You...had a nightmare," he repeated, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

"Well, yes, I know it sounds stupid, but it...it reminded me of everything here...this place, it reeks of evil to me. I know I grew up here. But that's not comforting. It's the place where Prim was chosen..." I swallowed hard, shaking my head to clear the image of her standing in the blood soaked dress. "It's the place where Gale was whipped. It's the place where Snow threatened my family's life. No good memories, or good feelings arise out of this. Everything...everywhere _reeks _of the games, of...everyone we've lost." I exhaled sharply, fatigued slightly by the outburst of hidden feelings within me.

"It doesn't sound stupid, Katniss. I feel the same way. That's why I wanted to go in the first place. But I thought you couldn't be convinced." Peeta was staring into his mug of steaming tea, as though infatuated with it. I guess it was far too emotional for him to make eye contact with me. I was...was happy the appropriate word? No, maybe relieved was...I felt incredibly _relieved _that he wanted to still do it...that my almost aggressive refusal earlier might've turned him away from the idea, but it did not. Maybe this is what we need. We have been locked in the cage of Panem our entire lives...there _must _be something else out there...we cannot spend our whole lives in this blasted mess we once called a 'country.'

"How can we even leave?" I asked. Of course, it was quite nice to dream, but not satisfying. No dream is satisfying until you come around to fulfilling it. I did not really have many dreams, actually, as a child. By dreams, I mean goals. My main goal was feeding my family. I did not think much of my own future, just my family's. It makes me sound altruistic, but that's a sickening word to describe a person like me. It sounds far too saintly.

"By boat."

"Boat...Peeta, I'm not really in the mood for jokes."

"I'm not joking!" he said, sighing. "Really. I talked to Annie recently, and-"

"You...talked to Annie? How is she?!" I hadn't seen her in a while, actually...or any of my old friends, considering I was, well, a hermit, for what felt like a century. If you could call them friends. But it's a better label than 'murder buddies.' Well, Annie wasn't in the games with me, but...still. Finnick was. I hope that she's faring okay.

"She's actually okay. And the baby, named Finnick, is doing good too. He's starting to walk." Peeta cleared his throat, and continued, "Anyway, she does live in District Four right now, and well, you know, they specialize in anything having to do with the sea. So, she said she could hitch us up with a boat."

"Wait...so this...this wasn't an impulsive idea of yours that you decided to tell me about last night, then? You thought this out?" I turned to face him, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Well...no, I did think it out, actually. I've wanted to leave for a while." He maintained a fixated stare with me, his eyes locked on mine.

"With me?" I said, softly.

"Of course," he replied, confused.

Wait...so...he...he _was _planning on me going with him. He _had _been thinking about me. I wasn't wrong! Well, I should not get too hyped about it. He likely doesn't have any romantic implications. It's just, no one wants to navigate unknown waters by themselves, and there aren't many that he'd be willing to go with.

"Well, say something," he said, lightly touching my hand that was clutching the armrest of the chair.

"It'll be dangerous, and what if we crash? We have no idea what's out there," I pointed out.

"Of course we don't know what's out there. But neither did Columbus. Or Magellan."

"Who are they?" I asked, feeling, well, rather stupid.

"Ancient explorers. They set off with a crew, and primitive technology, and managed to discover amazing things. They don't teach that in schools, obviously, to keep the illusion that we're alone in the world. Haymitch found a stack of archaic textbooks that the Capitol meant to destroy, but never got around to doing," Peeta explained.

So, while I was cooped up in bed, and crying all over the place like a deranged lunatic, he was putting himself out there and reading books, and talking to people. I could not make myself feel too bad over this. At least I was out and about now. Moping over what I should have done will not change the past in any way.

"Interesting," I replied, scratching the side of my nose. "You think I can borrow any of those books?"

"Well, yeah, they're not mine. But anyway, to get to the boats, we'll need to take a train down to District Four," Peeta said.

"Sounds like a plan," I said. As I looked over, I realized his hand was still on mine, and my heart beat increased exponentially.

"I'm glad you're on board. I..." He looked away, but then, seemed to find what he wanted to say, and turned back to face me once more. "I missed you...is all."

"I missed you too," I said quietly.

His fingers tapped mine, and I turned my hand over so that they grazed my palm. He interlaced his fingers with mine, slowly, tentatively. Once linked, I softly ran my thumb over his skin, and he squeezed my hand in return.

We proceeded to watch the sun announce its awakening; golden and burnt orange rays piercing the violet sky.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Hello! Thank you for the follows, and the favorite! And the two lovely reviews, which prompted me to continue with this tale.**

**They will begin their journey either the next chapter, or chapter four. I just needed to establish some preliminary stuff, so it'd make sense.**

**Much love!**

**-skywriter23**


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